


New Messages

by HalfwayDecentFanfiction



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-14
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-01-08 18:43:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1136108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfwayDecentFanfiction/pseuds/HalfwayDecentFanfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When bright overachiever Jemma Simmons gets stuck with punk slacker Skye Bennet as her lab partner, she discovers the other girl is more than she seems. Romance blossoms between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1  


“If you don’t get into the program, there must be some flaw in the admissions process,” Jemma Simmons declared.  


“Oh, I’m going to get in,” Fitz replied smugly.  


“I hope so,” Simmons sighed. Ever since she was young, getting into the Emberly Program, an advanced placement program for young STEM geniuses, had been her dream. They would be transferred to a private boarding school with state-of-the-art technology and only the best and brightest students and teachers to work with. It was rumored that Stephen Hawking himself taught a few classes there for top students. Simmons couldn’t imagine going there without Fitz by her side. Lately, though, she had been nervous about whether or not she was going to get in. Her science grade was the top in her grade, of course, but she was worried about how she was doing in math. And besides, there was always the possibility of a slip.  


“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Fitz said, putting his hand on hers. “You’re the smartest person I know. You’ll get in for sure.”  


“Thanks, Fitz,” she said. They’d spent so much time in each others’ company, studying and working and, sometimes, just spending time together.  


“Although, you got a tough draw for your lab partner,” Fitz said. “I mean, Skye Bennet? Really?” He winced. “I honestly can’t believe she’s in the advanced class.”  


“Yes, well, I should be able to cover that,” Simmons said nervously. “Besides, she could probably use a grade boost.”  


“It’s not fair that you’re responsible for her grades,” said Fitz. “Has she ever done any homework? At all?”  


“I don’t know,” Simmons said. “I’m just a little...scared. That girl terrifies me. She keep staring at me in class, like she’s planning to kidnap and murder me or something.”  


“I wouldn’t put it past her,” said Fitz.  


“That’s why we’re meeting to work in a coffee shop,” said Simmons. “Completely public, completely safe.”  


“Unless you go into a dark alley,” said Fitz, grabbing her arm suddenly. Simmons shrieked, then laughed.  


...  


Simmons sat, ramrod-straight, at a table at the local Starbucks. Her collar was popped out from under her purple sweater, and her freshly-ironed skirt was tucked demurely under her legs. She wore her hair in a tightly-bound bun, and her makeup was professional, tasteful, and smooth.  


By contrast, Skye, who slouched into the seat across from Simmons ten minutes late, was a mess. She wore a too-big tan jacket over a too-small T-shirt displaying the logo of some metal band Simmons had never head of (she preferred classical music, thank you very much). Her cargo pants were splattered with paint, and her wavy brown hair didn’t even look like it had been brushed. Instead, it grew from her head like a tangled briar hedge, framing Skye’s stormy face and contributing to the impression that she was likely to scratch you if you touched her. For reasons Simmons couldn’t fathom, Skye’s bulky laptop was on the table in front of her.  


“Right, then,” said Simmons. “Let’s get to work.”  


“Wait,” said Skye. “Shouldn’t we introduce ourselves first?” That was a bit more sociable than Simmons had expected Skye to be, but she was nothing if not polite.  


“Oh! Of course,” she said. “I’m-”  


“Jemma Evangeline Simmons,” said Skye. “Born in Oxford on April 3rd, 1998. Skipped two grades in elementary school and taking science classes several levels above her grade. Lives on 774 Maple Grove Drive, phone number 612-555-4389. Home-schooled for most of your life. Currently applying to the Emberly Program, and according to Young Scientists Daily, odds are pretty good that you’re getting in. You specialize in biochemistry, while your friend, Leo Fitz, specializes in engineering. You’ve been best friends since you were about five, have won five separate major national science contests working as a team, and are not currently dating, but he’s working up the nerve to ask you out.”  


“Fitz wouldn’t-” Simmons began. “Wait, how did you-” Skye turned her computer around, displaying a page filled with complicated-looking computer code.  


“That’s what I figured out with a simple scan program in about ten minutes,” she said. “I’ll bet there’s a lot more I could learn if I left it running longer. But I won’t. I don’t need to.” She closed the computer.  


“I’m not stupid,” she said. “But I am terrifying.” The realization hit Simmons like a slap to the face. Skye had heard every word of her conversation with Fitz.  


“Oh my goodness,” she said. “Skye, I am so sorry.”  


“Sorry you said that,” Skye replied, “or sorry I heard?” She stared Simmons down.  


“Both,” Simmons said helplessly. “It was unutterably rude of me.”  


“Yeah, it kinda was,” said Skye, crossing her arms.  


“Wait,” said Simmons. “What was that you said about me getting into the Emberly Program?” Skye smiled mischievously. It was the first time Simmons had ever seen Skye smile. She had to admit, it was a lovely change.  


“Maybe I’ll tell you later,” she said. “But you were right before. We should get to work.”

Messages:  
9:14 Skye Bennet: heres a link 2 the article about the emberly program.  
Skye Bennet: btw were fb friends now  
Skye Bennet: i thought it would b easier 2 work on the project this way  
9:16 Jemma Simmons: Skye, while I do admire your computer science prowess, tampering with my Facebook account is a violation of my privacy. The information you found out about me was fair game, I’ll admit, but this is most definitely NOT.  
Jemma Simmons: Also I would appreciate it if you would abide by the rules of spelling and grammar while you converse with me over the internet.  
Skye: lol ur a n00b grl :D :D :D  
Jemma Simmons: Why do I bother?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry for not updating this-I had it written, but have mostly been posting it elsewhere.

Chapter 2

“I’ve told you, Skye,” said Simmons. “No one calls me Jemma. My parents don’t even call me Jemma. I don’t even call me Jemma.”  
“Guess I’m just super special, huh?” said Skye. Jemma let out a frustrated puff of breath and took a sip of her iced green tea latte. “And who orders tea at Starbucks, anyway?”  
“A lot of people, Skye,” said Simmons. “Now, we have a project to do.” She and Skye had begun working together regularly at Starbucks for nearly a month now. Every time they sat at their usual table, Skye suddenly morphed from a brooding punk chick who would glare at you if you tried to talk to her to a bubbly, excitable chatterbox. It was a relief, Simmons had to admit, that Skye wasn’t constantly looking at her like she was a spider crawling on Skye’s toilet. On the other hand, Skye was easily distracted, constantly asking Simmons about her life, her preferences, her friends, and her hopes and dreams, instead of focusing on the assignment. It was driving Simmons batty.  
“A lot of people?” Skye said, continuing to tease. “Name three.”  
“It doesn’t matter,” Simmons said, ears turning red. “We have a paper to write. Getting back to infectious flesh-rotting diseases-”  
“Already bored,” said Skye, wrinkling her nose and examining her black fingernails. “And grossed out. What are you doing this weekend?”  
“Skye!” Simmons reprimanded. “We have quite a bit of work to finish up. If you’ll kindly listen to this bit of research I found, I think you’ll find it quite helpful for your portion of the paper.” Simmons began reading. It really was a fascinating article. The author discussed the evolution of airborne viruses and the necessity of prompt anti-serum development. Simmons, in fact, became so engrossed in the article that she was shocked when she looked up and found Skye glaring intensely at a boy sitting across the room.  
“Skye!” Simmons said, clapping her hands lightly in front of Skye’s face. “Concentrate!” Skye jerked backwards, nearly tipping her chair over.  
“God, Jemma!” she said. “You scared the crap out of me!”  
“It’s Simmons,” she said. “And I’ll thank you to keep your mind on the matter at hand, instead of dreaming up revenge fantasies about whichever classmate happens to be bothering you at the moment!” She looked down at Skye’s hands. She was holding a bottle of nail polish, some of which had just spilled on the table. “Were you painting your nails?” she said indignantly.  
“They were chipped,” said Skye. “So I fixed them. Do you paint your fingernails?”  
“That’s irrelevant,” said Simmons. “Although the answer is no. I’m taking this.” She slipped the nail polish into her backpack, ignoring Skye’s protestations. “I feel like you can’t seem to concentrate unless we’re at school.”  
“You’re the one who keeps volunteering to do extra credit projects,” said Skye. “If you didn’t, maybe we’d get more stuff done at school.”  
“If you don’t want to help, I can do them myself,” said Simmons.  
“What? Let you screw it all up? No thank you,” said Skye. “It’s my grade, too.”   
“Maybe we should work at somebody’s house,” said Simmons, biting back a response about how it wouldn’t make a difference, since she did all the work anyway. She didn’t know what it was about Skye that made her want to be rude. She was constantly poking, prodding, trying to draw Simmons out from behind her glossy facade. It was irritating at times.  
“Not mine,” Skye said immediately.   
“Fine,” Simmons said. “Mine, then. Come over next week. Now, back to the paper.”  
“Can’t we take a break?” said Skye. “Just for a little bit?”  
“I don’t think-” Simmons began.  
“Please?” said Skye.  
“Fine,” Simmons sighed.  
“Great,” said Skye, taking a sip of her latte. “So, seen any good movies lately?” Skye always did this. Always turned the conversation back to Simmons. Simmons felt that Skye was curious about her, that she was some kind of foreign entity to the other girl. Was Skye trying to figure out how Simmons stayed so polished, so poised, so skillfully able to keep up the image of perfection? All things Simmons didn’t quite know herself.  
The funny thing was, if Skye wanted answers about Simmons, all she would have to do was hack into her social media again. Curiously, it seemed that Skye preferred to find out the answers in person.  
...

“She’s looking at me,” Fitz whispered, waiting at Simmons’ locker while she got her books. “Make her stop.”  
“Don’t be such a baby, Fitz,” said Simmons. Skye was glaring at them again. Once more, Simmons marveled at the way Skye could so easily take her angry rebel persona on and off, as if it were a sweater or a barrette instead of a personality. How could she be two such radically different people at once?  
“How do you stand it?” he said.  
“She’s not usually like this,” said Simmons. “Trust me, she knows she’s scaring you. She probably thinks it’s a laugh.”  
“Really?” Fitz said, suddenly interested. “Do you think she fancies me?”  
“No,” said Simmons, biting back a giggle.  
“Are you sure?” said Fitz. “Because I could use a scary girlfriend to intimidate all my enemies.”  
“I’m not scary enough?” Simmons teased.  
“Not quite,” said Fitz. “Would you give her my number?”  
“Honestly, Fitz, sometimes I cannot tell whether or not you’re joking,” said Simmons.  
“I sort of am,” Fitz admitted. “And sort of not. You seem to like her, so I’d like to get to know her, too.”  
“If you want,” said Simmons. She realized that it was true. She liked Skye quite a lot, actually. She hoped they could still be friends next semester, after switching lab partners. Just then, her phone buzzed.

Messages:  
10:14  
Skye: hey girl hey :)  
Skye: what ru doing  
Skye: anything fun  
10:15  
Jemma Simmons: I was just talking to Fitz. He’d like to meet you.  
Skye: fitz is ur boyfriend rite  
Skye: doesnt he think im like a murderer or something  
10:16  
Jemma Simmons: Don’t worry, I told him you weren’t.  
Skye: why would u do this 2 me  
Jemma Simmons: And he is NOT my boyfriend!   
Skye: u liar  
Jemma Simmons: No, really, he’s not.   
10:17  
Skye: o? any other boys? got a cruuuuush?  
Jemma Simmons: Not really. I’ve never really been interested in boys.  
Skye: how bout girls?  
10:31  
Skye: u still there?  
11:04  
Skye: J?  
12:40  
Jemma Simmons: I’m terribly sorry for not responding. I was in class. Perhaps we should limit the social media to after school, so that neither of us gets in trouble.   
Skye: ok  
Skye: u didn’t answer my question


	3. Chapter 3

Simmons nervously smoothed the pale pink, floral-patterned blanket on her bed. Logically, she knew that Skye wouldn’t care how neat her room was, but all the same, she knew she wouldn’t be comfortable entertaining Skye in a room that was less than perfect. Try as she might, though, she couldn’t seem to smooth out every last wrinkle in the bed.  
The doorbell chimed musically. Simmons popped up and ran for the door, partly because she was excited to see Skye, and partly because she didn’t want one of her parents getting there first. In fact, she wanted to limit the interaction between Skye and her parents as much as possible.  
She dashed through the kitchen, where her father, his thin, greying hair gelled back and his glasses resting on his sharp nose, sat reading the paper.  
“Hold it, little miss!” he said. Simmons stopped short.  
“Don’t run to the door,” he said. “You don’t want whoever’s there to see you sweaty and red-faced. Walk like a lady.”  
“Don’t be like that, Andrew,” said Simmons’ mother, walking into the kitchen. Her light brown hair (the same color as Simmons’) was bobbed, and she wore a professional-looking grey pantsuit. “She can run if she wants.”  
“Her hair is a mess,” said Simmons’ father, turning coolly back to his newspaper. “Fix it, will you?”  
“You fix it, if you care so much!” Simmons’ mother snapped, then regained her composure. “Simmons, dear, get the door. Your friend’s waiting for you. Your father and I are just going to have a chat in the kitchen.” Privately, Simmons wondered if her mother was dense enough to think that Simmons thought her parents “chatted.” No, they only ever fought. Quick, snapping fights. Long, dragged-out fights where both her parents slashed with their teeth and claws and drew as much blood as possible. Silent, days-long, frigid fights where they refused to talk to each other for days and Simmons felt like they were all slowly freezing into ice cubes, fights that left parts of her frozen even after they ended, that made her feel like they’d never quite thaw. It didn’t help that Simmons herself was responsible for most of them.  
“Hello!” she said brightly, pasting a smile onto her face as she swung the door open. Skye stood, slouching, on the steps.  
“That took a while,” she said.  
“I’m sorry,” she hissed. “My parents are being absolutely-”  
“Is that Fitz?” Simmons’ mother’s voice rang out from the kitchen. She heard the tapping of her mother’s high heels across the kitchen floor.  
“Maddening,” she finished. “Come on. Get in the house, take off your shoes. I haven’t quite told them about you yet, so hurry along. And stand up straight!”  
“Wait, what do you mean you haven’t-”  
“Smile!” Simmons hissed. Straightening her own back, she turned to her mother.  
“Mother,” she said, “this is my new friend, Skye Bennet.”  
“You didn’t tell me about her,” Simmons’ mother said accusingly.  
“No, it appears I did not,” Simmons said nervously.   
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Simmons,” Skye said as she extended her hand, a charming smile on her face.  
“It’s Dr. Fogarty,” said Simmons’ mother. “My husband is Dr. Simmons.” Her voice hardened at the word “husband”, as if she were tensing up in preparation for a fight. She gave Skye’s hand a quick, brusque shake.  
“Don’t be so rude to Simmons’ friend,” said Simmons’ father. “Hello. I’m Andrew Simmons.” He extended his hand, and Skye shook it. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”  
“Did you know about Simmons’ new friend?” Simmons’ mother asked sharply.  
“If I did, what would it matter?” he replied. “I’m her father.”  
“I’m her mother!” said Simmons’ mother. “You need to keep me informed of these things.” While they were distracted, Simmons pulled Skye into her room.  
“Phew,” she said. “Sorry about all that.”  
“Hey, this is downright relaxing compared to my house,” she joked. She plopped on to Simmons’ bed, wrinkling the newly-smoothed sheets.  
“Right, then,” said Simmons. “Let’s begin with the bacteria lab.” They studied, like they usually did, but it wasn’t the same. The calm, relaxed atmosphere and steady, easy banter of the coffee shop was gone. Being at Simmons’ house had ruined everything. It was setting her on edge, making her jumpy and nervous like a mouse who’d spotted the shadow of a cat. Skye’s teasing wasn’t helping, and to make matters worse, she was poking around her room.  
“Skye! The lesson!” she snapped as Skye picked up a gold-framed picture from Simmons’ desk. Simmons could feel her nerves fraying.  
“In a minute,” Skye said distractedly, looking at the picture. “Hey, are these your parents?”  
“Put it down,” Simmons said calmly, regaining her composure. It wouldn’t do for her to get angry at Skye, because then one of her parents would get angry at her, and then the other would defend her, and they would fight (again) and it would be her fault (again). No, she could keep it inside (again).  
“God, you’re so anal,” she said. “No wonder your mom’s so pissed off all the time.” That tore it.  
“Shut up, Skye!” Simmons said, half-shrieking. “Put that down right now and...and shut up!” She immediately shut her mouth. No! she berated herself. That wasn’t okay! Skye dropped the picture, momentarily shocked. Then the easy smile slipped back onto her face. Simmons was relieved, despite her anger. Good. She hadn’t ruined this friendship, even with her momentary slip.  
“I’m very sorry,” she said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice, because Skye still had that smug smile on her face, like she was enjoying this, and Simmons could barely stand it.  
“No,” said Skye. “You’re not. You’re mad.”  
“I-” Simmons began, but Skye cut her off.  
“You’d better not pretend not to be mad,” said Skye. “Don’t lie to me.” Simmons opened and closed her mouth, too angry and too shocked to say anything.  
“Go ahead,” said Skye. “Yell at me.”  
“My mother will hear me,” said Simmons.  
“What, are you scared?”  
“Shut up!” Simmons snapped. Skye nodded. Simmons took a deep breath. “And stop mucking about with my things!”  
“All right,” Skye said softly. “I’m sorry.”  
“Thank you!” said Simmons. “Now, back to the lab.”  
“Just,” Skye said. “One thing.” She gestured to Simmons’ immaculate room. “No one’s this perfect. So don’t pretend to be. Around me.”  
“You won’t like me,” Simmons blurted out. Skye stared intently at Simmons’ face, her brown eyes meeting Simmons’ own.  
“I think I will,” she said, and Simmons felt like she’d just taken off her backpack after a long day. Freed.  
...  
New Messages:  
8:17  
Jemma Simmons: Skye?  
Skye: yeah?  
Jemma Simmons: (My, that was quick!) My parents insist that I invite you over for dinner. You have no obligation to come if you don’t wish to.  
Skye: i;ll come  
Jemma Simmons: Really? Are you sure? You don’t need to ask your parents?  
Skye: i can come  
Jemma Simmons: I haven’t even told you when  
Skye: i can come. i’ll skip whatever i need to skip.  
Jemma Simmons: You really don’t need to do that.  
Skye: do you not want me 2 come?  
8:18  
Jemma Simmons: Not particularly.  
8:19  
Skye: y not  
8:20  
Skye: am i not good enuff 4 ur parents  
Jemma Simmons: Absolutely not! It’s just that they’re very judgmental people. They don’t particularly like any of my friends except for Fitz.  
Skye: thats why they need 2 meet me. im so charming theyll realized the error of their ways.  
Jemma Simmons: If you’re sure...  
Skye: I’m sure.


	4. Chapter 4

This time, when the doorbell rang, Simmons resigned herself to allowing her mother to answer it. She knew there was no hope that Skye, lost cause that she was, would be able to impress her parents. Perhaps if her mother disliked Skye immediately, Skye wouldn’t have to suffer through an evening of strained conversation and silent chewing at her parents’ behest.

“Simmons!” her mother called. “Come out and greet your guest!” Surprised, Simmons realized that she could trace none of the cold, poorly disguised anger that rarely left her mother’s voice. She stepped into the entryway to find her mother holding a small red bag and smiling. _Smiling. ___

“Miss...Bennet, is it?” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Skye, drawing Simmons’ gaze away from her mother’s smile and towards an even more shocking sight. Skye was wearing a black pencil skirt, a white blouse, and a red blazer. Her nails were clean and unpainted, her makeup was tasteful and glossy, and her hair was neatly pulled back in, of all things, a bun. There was something forced in her congenial smile, but only someone who really knew Skye would be able to tell.

“Miss Bennet has brought us a gift,” said Simmons’ mother. “Isn’t that nice?” Simmons swallowed.

“Yes,” she managed. An irrational feeling of betrayal had sprung up. She swallowed it.

“Do come in,” she said. “Dinner’s just about ready.”

Skye sat at the table, her posture perfect, and gently placed her napkin on her lap. When her mother wasn’t looking, Simmons gave her a confused look. Skye responded by winking. Simmons relaxed.

Simmons’ father was sitting at the table as well. He looked at Skye with an expression of mild surprise. She smiled at him.

“Tell me, which of you grows the begonias in the pot outside?” she said. “They’re absolutely exquisite.”

“Why, they’re mine,” said Simmons’ father, pleased. “They’re no ordinary flowers, you know, they’re a rare strain from…” He proceeded to talk Skye’s ear off about the flowers while she listened politely, smiling and nodding and asking questions that Simmons knew were sure to send him on long-winded tangents. She realized that for what might be the first time in her life, Skye had done her homework.

“Dinner’s ready,” Simmons’ mother announced, placing a few dishes on the table.

Simmons spent the dinner picking at her food, sure she wouldn’t be able to keep it down, as Skye made polite small talk with her parents.

“This soufflé is delicious, Dr. Fogarty,” said Skye.

“Thank you,” Simmons’ mother replied. “It’s a family recipe, you know. My grandfather taught me how to make it.”

“Wow,” said Skye. “He must have been talented. I’ve heard making soufflés is really difficult.”

Simmons shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She knew, she knew, that Skye didn’t care about begonias or soufflés or any of it. She was sucking up, and it was one of the most unsettling things Simmons had ever seen.

“Now, Simmons tells me you’re her lab partner,” said Simmons’ mother. “Are you interested in the sciences?”

“Not in the slightest,” Simmons blurted out.

“Simmons helps me a lot,” said Skye, shooting Simmons a glare. _Can you not? _her expression seemed to say. “She’s so smart, though. I feel like she’s teaching me so much.”__

“I’m sure she has,” said her father. “She’s a brilliant girl. You know, I’m the one who took her to the museum exhibit that first got her interested in biotechnology.” Simmons smiled. Her father loved telling this story.

“Really? That sounds adorable,” said Skye, leaning forward encouragingly.

“This is just like you,” Simmons’ mother muttered. Her father’s eyes narrowed.

“Didn’t quite catch that, sorry,” he said frostily.

“It wasn’t important.”

“No, no, do go on.”

“I said, this is just like you. Every time someone compliments our daughter, you have to jump in and take all the credit.”

“Are we really going to have this conversation now?” said Simmons’ father, with a little glance towards Skye.

“I’m not the one who decided to make this into a row!”

“No, you were just planning to mutter your little comments under your breath until I snapped and then laugh at me for overreacting, weren’t you?”

And suddenly, Simmons had had enough. She’d had enough of her windup parents sitting in their perfect dollhouse and having the same arguments over and over again. She’d had enough of doing well in school and behaving herself and hoping against hope that her parents would be pleased with her and be in a good enough mood that they wouldn’t fight so much. She was tired of the freezing and the thawing and the freezing again.

Now Skye was here, with her nails scrubbed clean and her painted-on smile and her clothes that didn’t quite fit. She’d tied her hair down and stabbed it with bobby pins and it had to hurt, pulling it so tight, but she didn’t look bothered at all. She’d squeezed herself into the cage-like chairs at her family’s dining table because she thought that this was what Simmons wanted. Skye didn’t know, Simmons realized, that the reason she was important was that she was _different _, that she was hers and not theirs. Because everything else was theirs, her room and her clothes and her schoolwork and her teachers and Fitz ( _not that Fitz was any less her best friend for that _, she thought, scolding her disloyal brain), and Skye was supposed to be different.____

She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t sit here and listen to her parents take potshots at each other like children with brand-new bebe guns while Skye laughed in a way that was just right in all the wrong ways. She stood up and ran out the back door.

She could hear her parents yelling her name in sharp tones behind her, but they wouldn’t run after her, especially not with a guest in the house. It would look unprofessional.

She ran and ran while her tears, chilled by the New England autumn air, slipped off her cheeks and got carried away by the wind. It didn’t take her long to get where she was going: a park only a few blocks away from her house.

She passed by the playground without a second glance and walked towards the small rock garden to its left. She and Fitz had never liked playgrounds, finding them too full of other children, children who yelled to loudly and had cracker crumbs on their overalls and peanut butter on their faces. They had regarded these foreign entities with the same kind of caution exercised by field researchers who had just discovered a new type of Amazonian frog, and largely avoided them. This was, in retrospect, a smart decision on their part. The other children had found them just as strange, and had exercised a different kind of caution, that of the prototypical Old West sheriff. The “shoot first, ask questions later” kind. Thus, she and Fitz had retreated to the rock garden, and spent long hours playing together there on hot summer days.

Simmons approached a large, grey rock to the left of the center of the garden. It had a rough, pockmarked surface, like sandstone, and little white flecks embedded in the surface. She had claimed this rock, her “special rock”, early on. Fitz had his own, not too far away. She remembered that she’d first claimed the rock not long after her parents had started fighting on a regular basis. Fitz hadn’t kicked up a fuss when she’d shoved him away from it, yelling, “Mine!” He’d understood.

She pressed her forehead against the rock, which somehow seemed a lot smaller than it had been last time she’d been there, and told herself to get a grip. This wasn’t just pathetic, it was rude. She’d left Skye back there with her parents, and Skye had gone to all this trouble to look presentable. It wasn’t her fault Simmons hadn’t appreciated it. She needed to get over this little bout of petty teenaged self-centeredness, go back home, and apologize. She took a deep, shuddering breath, then heard a voice behind her.

“Hey.” She turned. Skye was walking towards her.

Simmons’s parents, she knew, would be calling very friend who lived within walking distance and tell them to keep an eye out for her, and if she was gone for too long, they’d go out looking for her in the car. They wouldn’t be worried when they found her, since they knew she was responsible. Instead, they’d be annoyed, and they’d probably fight on the way, and she’d be right back where she started.

Skye had come after her.

“I’m terribly sorry,” said Simmons, trying to stop her voice from breaking.

“Don’t be,” said Skye. She leaned against the rock and folded her arms. “I get it. You’re a human being, and you’re gonna act like one occasionally.”

“As opposed to acting like…?”

“I don’t know, Biochemist Barbie?” said Skye, shrugging. Simmons let out a half-laugh, half-sob.

“Hey,” said Skye. “I’m sorry about what happened back there. If I’d known they were gonna start fighting I wouldn’t have said what I said.”

Simmons shook her head.

“No,” she said. “No, that wasn’t your fault, it was…” She shook her head.

“Wait, are they like that all the time?” said Skye. “Um, don’t take this the wrong way, but your parents are huge drama queens.”

And that was such an incredibly _Skye _thing to say that Simmons had to laugh.__

“God,” she said. Impulsively, she closed the distance between herself and Skye, reached around to the back of Skye’s head, and started pulling out the bobby pins that were holding in her bun.

“Ow, hey,” said Skye. “It took _forever _to do that.”__

“Take it out,” said Simmons. “It looks completely…just take it out.” She pulled out the last bobby pin, and Skye’s hair tumbled down her back.

“I don’t know,” said Skye, “I thought I was rocking the preppy neat freak look.”

Simmons pushed Skye against her special rock and kissed her right on the lips.

She didn’t have any special reason _why _, just that Skye was right next to her being warm and funny and beautiful and caring about her more than Simmons could ever have expected, and Simmons was finished lying to herself and finished being what other people wanted her to be and so very finished worrying about what her parents would think. Besides, Skye had told her that she wanted her to be honest.__

It was a smashing kiss, both literally and figuratively. Literally, because Simmons was very enthusiastic and her teeth has smashed into Skye’s before she could stop them, before she could pull back and kiss her properly, slowly and intensely. Figuratively, because she felt like someone had banged her head against a rock in the best possible way. She was dizzy and her mind was full of sharp feelings and she was made of raw flesh and exposed nerves. She'd ripped herself open for Skye because she knew that Skye wouldn't take advantage of that fact, wouldn't hurt her.

The kiss felt like it lasted for an eternity. It ended too soon.

Simmons pulled away, suddenly feeling awkward.

“So,” she said nervously.

“Yeah,” said Skye. “Um. I did not expect that.”

“I’m sorr—,” Simmons began, feeling her face begin to burn.

“I didn’t say that was bad,” Skye said, cutting her off. She leaned over and kissed Simmons again.

 

New Messages:  
9:30  
Leo Fitz: How did it go?  
10:26  
Leo Fitz: Skye?  
10:43  
Leo Fitz: Skyyyyeee  
Leo Fitz: Skye you owe me  
Leo Fitz: I DID YOUR HAIR  
11:17  
Skye: chill  
Leo Fitz: Oh thank god  
Leo Fitz: How did it go?  
Skye: gr8  
Leo Fitz: “gr8”? Is that really all you have to say to me?  
Skye: yeh  
Leo Fitz: You’re going to need to give me more details. Did everything go according to plan?  
Skye: not really  
Leo Fitz: Sarcasm doesn’t work over text-based media, Skye.  
Skye: lol  
Leo Fitz: SKYE  
11:18  
Leo Fitz: Look, it’s important to me that Simmons has friends that are not me, okay?  
Leo Fitz: I don’t expect you to understand  
Skye: gee thanks  
Leo Fitz: That’s not what I meant.  
Leo Fitz: It’s just that you don’t have a lot of friends  
Skye: :/  
Leo Fitz: Not friends the way Simmons and I are friends  
Leo Fitz: It’s just been the two of us for a really long time and I worry about her sometimes  
Leo Fitz: She’s a really good person  
11:19  
Skye: yeah i get it  
Skye: your worried that things will get weird between you  
Leo Fitz: *you’re  
Skye: …  
Skye: im done  
Skye: ur dead to me  
Leo Fitz: *you’re  
Skye: …r u joking?  
Leo Fitz: I would never joke about something as important as grammar.  
Skye: XD  
11:20  
Skye: anyway  
Skye: im pretty sure i impressed her parents  
Skye: for a while  
Skye: idk if thats a thing anymore  
Skye: but idc really  
Skye: because somtehing better happened  
Leo Fitz: What?  
Skye: I think I’ll let J tell you  
Skye: g2g  
Leo Fitz: YOU CANNOT DO THIS TO ME

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Sorry for taking so long to update! I stopped watching the show and mostly lost interest.
> 
> Looking back on this story is sort of embarrassing (I didn't research, like, anything, and I feel like I've gotten better at writing in the past year) but I feel like I need to finish it, if only for my peace of mind.
> 
> Thanks for being so patient!

**Author's Note:**

> Please comment!


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